Willie Bosket Poem by Rashida Mack

For twenty years
Bosket has sat
Read, and thought
Confined in solitude.
His cell,
Nine by six feet.
In it,
One cot,
One sink and toilet combination,
One man.
Willie claims numbness,
No longer able to hurt
Or bleed,
But in one moment,
He provides a glimpse into his pain:
“I’d rather be dead.”
And another 38 years to go…
14 years without a prison violation.
Does it matter what he’s done?

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